Deus Ex Machina
by Cooking Spray
Summary: Insight on what Jackson might've been thinking as he lay dying on the Reiserts' floor. A metaphorical soliloquy in first person. Connotative JacksonxLisa, one shot.


**Deus Ex Machina**

**by Cooking Spray**

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**Disclaimer: Highlight address bar. Read carefully. Consult dictionary if necessary.**

**I saw this movie recently, loved the crazy potential charisma between Lisa and Jackson, and decided that this little idea couldn't go without being written. It's really just an excuse for my own metaphorical field day, but at least it sounds jivey. XD**

**Enjoy!**

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**deus ex machina _(n.)-_**

**The use of improbable means to extricate oneself from a hopeless situation.**

**Or, in Latin, literally "god from the machine".**

If this were a nickelodeon quarter show, or even an ancient Greek tragedy, it'd be about time for you to save me. Of course, you're far from a goddess, but hey, when you're writhing on the floor in a pool of your own blood, anything without bullet holes looks divine.

You're so resplendent with your hair in tangles, face a mess of tear tracks, pert little clothes torn asunder. Maybe you could be some sort of neo-Pandora; you've already opened the box. Aphrodite's pushing it, but I'll take all the help I can get. You might look kind of cute with a pair of wings and a halo, too - ah, ah, don't make that face. Can't the dying get a last wish?

I'm still lying here, painting your floor red, and you haven't even begun to so much as glow. Well, there goes my childhood - I guess the problem with all of those Saturday morning serials was that they weren't intended to go along with the boundaries of _real _life. One week, you've overstepped the edge of the cliff, and the next, presto! Your superhero's come to save you. It's a _big_ disappointment, let me tell you.

You're leaving me hanging, baby. I guess I'm just not as dashing as Lois Lane - but wait, the roles are reversed. _You're_ supposed to be the femme fatale. What happened here? Quite the twisted fairy tale, this is turning out to be. . .

My lids are getting heavy, and I'm no Sleeping Beauty, but I'm thinking that you should come be my Princess Charming anyhow, and kiss me. Don't tell me I've got the roles all wrong again - somehow, nothing's gone right today. But you can _pretend._

Ah, I see how it is - the holy little angel doesn't want to get involved with high handed Lucifer. It'd tarnish her reputation, I suppose. Don't worry, I understand. But let me tell you something - there's a little blood on your hands, and it sure as _hell _isn't yours. Just a little sympathy for the devil, that's all I ask. . .

Church bells in the distance. Holy choir's calling - better act quickly, unless you want to be seen. Perhaps I mistook you for a statue. Right now, you look lovely enough to be one, all perfect and whole and _alive_. A stone tableau of humanity at its finest. So maybe I fucked it up, but girls like a bad boy, right? We can go back to the airport. You know you'll take me back.

The banter's getting tiring. You never liked my metaphors, anyway. I'm talking in circles, but your mind's set in a straight line. Does it surprise you that I failed geometry, way back when? Does it surprise you even _more _to think that I was a child once? Could never grasp the concept of linear thinking. That's why the shot missed, you know - you should be thanking me. It's a perfect paradox, this splendid little conundrum we've got going. If I were poetic in the least, I might be excited.

I hear the cavalry coming. You shunt away from me - guilty conscience? Shouts and the pattering of footsteps, the cocking of guns and shadows and groping hands; they're all a blur. There's a bitter irony in all of this, but I can't seem to find the right analogy, or even a cynical remark. You've really done your damage. Even though I've been made into swiss cheese, I'm impressed.

As I'm led away, I think I see above your head a single silken string **(1)**, and I can't help but grin.

Maybe you're my _dea ex machina _**(2) **after all.

That's Latin for goddess. You don't need to know the rest.

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**(1) In ancient Greek tragedies, the actors would often be dangled from the ceiling by a translucent string.**

**(2) Not a typo. Jackson substitutes "dea" for "deus" to give the phrase a feminine slant more applicable to Lisa's gender. The story's still uses the masculine noun because it refers to the literary device.**

**If anyone wants to take a stab at all of the symbolism, go ahead. I'm not even sure of what all I managed to cram in there. xX;; It wasn't intended to be so pretentious!**

**Thoughts?**


End file.
